


Not-So-Ancient History

by ashurbadaktu



Series: Those Who Cannot Remember The Past [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashurbadaktu/pseuds/ashurbadaktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every life comes with times of actualization, crystallized moments wherein everything becomes perfectly clear.   Who you are.  Your purpose in life.  The one thing you truly desire.</p><p>For Peter Hale, that moment first came the day he watched Melissa Delgado walk through the doors of Beacon Hills High School.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not-So-Ancient History

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the always-fantastic thedisorderly.

Every life comes with times of actualization, crystallized moments wherein everything becomes perfectly clear.   Who you are.  Your purpose in life.  The one thing you truly desire. 

For Peter Hale, that moment first came the day he watched Melissa Delgado walk through the doors of Beacon Hills High School.

He couldn't have said what had attracted him to her so strongly when he generally couldn't be bothered concerning himself with girls.  It helped that he hadn't grown up with her, hadn't pulled her pigtails in kindergarten, and his mother didn't know her mother from the yearly bake sales at the school.  She was new and exciting and if Peter didn't know himself better, he could have said it was that.  But he wasn't the type to fall for simple things; that was just what made it exciting.

No, Peter's fixation had to do with other things.  

It didn't hurt that she was beautiful, of course.  He wasn't so full of himself to think that didn't matter, that the perfect black waves of her hair and smooth olive skin had nothing to do with it.  Her smile, bright as the sun and framed in perfect, rose-dark lips, made his heart skip a beat every time he happened to catch it in the hallway.  And her laugh…

He was embarrassed how much it effected him, how much _he_  wanted to make her laugh.

It wasn't just one thing.  It was her whole  _essence_ , for lack of a better word. She was smart, could answer just about any question in class, but she was also amazing at just _listening_  when others spoke in a way that made him truly feel like he was being heard. When she sat and focused on you, that was it.  She wasn't thinking of her homework or trying to figure out how to get a word in edgewise.  She was listening, really listening, and for someone like him, it was one of the rarest and most attractive traits in the world.

That was good, great even, impossible to find in the cesspool of small town academia, but then there was her poetry.  Some part of Peter had to believe that they were destined to be if only because it was random chance that got them paired up for the creative writing assignment in their advanced English class.  The alphabet, coiled and twisted about in a configuration of desks, had managed to get him seated next to her.  It had given him the time to watch her, see how her handwriting looped and how she drew swirling geometric patterns on the side of her page like illumination in an ancient manuscript.  But then, like a sign from Above, they'd been assigned to edit each other's poetry assignments and he'd discovered that the text on those pages was infinitely more fascinating.

He was a teenage boy.  He was an exceptionally smart teenage boy, a clever teenage boy, but a teenage boy all the same.  Generally, if it wasn't a girl, the word 'beautiful' wasn't in his vocabulary.  But then Melissa had happened, her _words_  had happened, and he hadn't been able to think of anything else since then.  She had everything.  She was… everything he'd ever wanted, all wrapped up in one girl.  He'd be disgusted with the level of his own infatuation if he hadn't spent countless nights examining and reexamining it and coming to the same conclusion.

He'd asked his older brother about it, as much to stop the ever-revolving circle of thoughts about her as anything else.  And, as per usual, Rich had been utterly useless.  'Talk to her', he'd said.  Like that was simple.  Like that was EASY.  Like the scent of her in his nose didn't make all of the thoughts in his head try to spill out, all of them embarassing and some of them _very_  embarrassing.  Rich was always cool, always in control; there were reasons why everyone knew that his brother would succeed their father as the Alpha and it wasn't just because he was older.  

The other problem was McCall.

Harry McCall had been the bane of his existence well before Melissa.  Not only was he captain of the basketball team and not _only_  did he have a way of making the teachers eat out of his hand (even when he was not _nearly_  as smart as Peter was, not _nearly),_ but he didn't even have the decency to keep out of the side of Peter's life that should have been family only.

They'd both been middle-schoolers when the new wolf had arrived in town.  A young Omega sent to live with his human aunt, McCall had lost his parents in a car accident and had had no proper pack to take him in beyond that.  Peter's father, ever the decent man, had offered him a place in the Hale pack (which was why Peter knew anything at all about his background since they weren't exactly _bosom buddies)_ , but McCall had 'declined'.  Run away, more like it.  It had caused a bit of an uproar and some of his family had thought that the boy should have been inducted regardless for everyone's safety, but McCall had proved to be a well-behaved wolf and his father was unwilling to fix what didn't seem to be broken.  An Omega that young couldn't really be a threat to the pack except through incompetence and so far, McCall hadn't so much as missed a day of school.   

Peter was ambivalent on that particular decision.  On one side, it would have been nice to see his father best McCall when he came of age (because there really couldn't have been any other outcome), but having McCall in his pack would have meant that _they_ would have had to challenge each other for rank.  Rich, of course, was above him but that was Rich.  His older brother should be above him, at least until they were both adults and Peter had gotten enough experience to figure out a way around Richard's pure power.  McCall, though… McCall was in his year.  And the idea of outright ranking below McCall in _anything_  was about as unpleasant a thought as they came.

As it was, they had something of an uneasy cease fire.  McCall wasn't nearly as bright as Peter was (which, no one was, except perhaps for Melissa) and Peter happily let him reign supreme in the physical arena.  Peter was in any number of clubs and ran quite a lot of the school's activities (not to mention his place as captain of the school's mathletes who had made it to regionals three years running, thank you very much).  McCall was respected… but his temper and his occasionally callous demeanor made sure he only had a few friends.  Unfortunately, one of those 'few friends' was Melissa Delgado. 

Who he hadn't figured out how to speak to outside of an academic setting.  Or rather, their English assignment.  Ever.  He'd over thought it, oh, just about a million times over but never before had he been able to bring himself to just _do_  it.  Eventually, though, he'd figured out that if McCall could manage to talk to her, it couldn't be _that_  hard.

That was why he'd decided he was going to do it today.  This was the last day of their workshopping together, which meant that this was really the last opportunity he'd have to talk to her without having to come up with a reason outside of class (and he was terrible at coming up with reasons because he always tried to make them good, reasonable reasons and then he got interested in the distraction and never got to why he'd actually come to talk to them in the first place).  He'd made sure his hair was slightly disheveled (rakishly) and that he was in the most stylish clothes that his mother would allow him to leave the house in (she had Opinions about what was proper for school) and now he just had to get to English class.  Easy enough.

Except for the massive arm slamming him into the lockers.  That… that was definitely an obstacle.

"What's got you dressing up, Hale?" came the voice he'd expected just about a second after all the air had been knocked of his lungs by the one-two-arm-locker combo.  Really, if McCall wanted any kind of answer, he probably should have started in a way that didn't make Peter quite so lightheaded.  He was a werewolf, though, so thankfully it didn't last long.

"Whatever reason it is, I'm pretty sure it has absolutely nothing to do with you," and he was pleased that he was able to push the arm off.  Apparently those sessions with the school councilor were paying off for McCall.

The other boy turned his head to glance inside the classroom where Peter could just see the bobbing black curls of his class partner pulling out her notes.  McCall smiled the kind of smile that Peter really didn't like before glancing back at him.

"I'm not so sure about that.  You see, Hale... I'm not blind.  Or stupid.  And Melissa?" The look on McCall's face told him that he'd reacted to the name and not in a way that made him happy, "Is mine.  She is, plain and simple.  I already asked her out to the Spring Formal and she already said yes."

"Maybe because she hadn't gotten a better offer," came out instantly, and Peter regretted it immediately.  He wasn't the sort to 'stand up' to bullies, mostly because it just aggravated them and ended up getting one in bigger trouble.  The second he'd figured out what this was about, he should have simply nodded, agreed, and done what he wanted anyway.  The consequences didn't matter much if Melissa was willing to go out with him. In fact, if his father was any indication, then girls _liked_ a bravely won scar or two.

That just got a laugh, though.

"You think you're a better offer, Hale?  Really?  Wow, and I thought I was _over_ estimating your delusions of grander."

"Grand _eur_."  Dammit, _why_ did he ever talk?

"Whatever," McCall growled back, his body language definitely taking a turn from general school bully type to aggressive werewolf type.  Peter decided to use it to his advantage to switch the topic a little to things that wouldn't make him quite so much of an idiot. 

"Are you seriously going to challenge me right here in the hallway, McCall?  I don't think it would make for very good yearbook photos.  Sideburns don't become you."

The other boy stopped looming over him and stepped back, his voice turning to a low hiss.

"How many times do I have to tell your stupid family I don't want any part in your 'pack'?" and something about that piqued at his interest, regardless of the fact that it was just about the worst timing ever.  Really?  That's what he'd taken from that?  And, why DID McCall want no part in their pack?  What kind of wolf _wanted_  to be alone?  He didn't even like all of his family most of the time and he'd still never turn his back on them to become an Omega.   

The thought was jostled out of his head by a firm, slightly painful, pointer finger jabbed into his chest. 

"Just don't make a fool of yourself, Hale.  Finish your project, moon over her if you have to, but know your place and be happy with just friends or writing buddies or whatever the hell you're doing in there." 

He bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something similarly stupid to, oh, _the whole conversation_ before tilting his head towards the door. 

"I'm going to be late." 

"Yeah, one of many things that aren't my problem." 

He wanted to warn McCall not to mess with him, that he had a pack behind him unlike _some_  people, but the words didn't come out.  For one, he'd soundly lost this particular volley and he wasn't the sort of boy who enjoyed scrabbling for victory when his chance was well over. For another, this was _his_  fight.  No matter how it went, this was a human matter.  And he'd deal with it in a human way.

\----- 

She went to the dance with Harry.  Peter brought up the idea that they might be able to convince the teachers to start a student art magazine.  To that end, he and Melissa started meeting twice a week after school at the shake shack down the street.

\-----

"He's really not that bad, Pete," and she was the only one allowed to call him 'Pete' and the only one allowed to nudge his shoulder like that even when she was playing the quite-literal devil's advocate.

"Says his ever-forgiving girlfriend who, I am convinced, has had blinders put on her at some point.  How else could you miss epic number of horrible little things he says and does in a day?"  

Only eyes that pretty were allowed to roll at him without rebuke, Peter decided.  

"He's not horrible.  Defensive, yes.  There's a lot going on up there that he doesn't show.  He's... complicated.  And he'd probably freak out if he knew I was telling you this."

"Which is the _best reason_  to be telling me this.  I'm going to need something on him if I'm going to win against him for class representative."

Those eyes went wide and she made a little squeak of a noise that Peter tried to ignore for his sanity's sake.  "You _wouldn't_!"

"How long have we been meeting here?"

Dammit, and now those eyes were aimed squarely at him, brown and beautiful and absolutely undeniable.  "Long enough that I thought my _friend_  knew the difference between chatting about our day and digging up dirt on the competition."

"All right, all right, I surrender.  Turn them off, for the love of God."  It was as close to begging as he'd ever get.

"Better."  

She popped a fry into her mouth.  "I really don't get why the two of you have this rivalry going anyway.  You're not even in most of the same classes and you don't really compete at the same things.  I mean, you play pretty well in gym class and everything, but you've never looked interested."

"Because I'm _not_.  Sports are just the only outlet for some people to show off their superiority in things that are no longer terribly relevant to us as a society."  Human society, anyway.  "Also, I don't like him and he's not smart enough for most of our classes, so it works out well for me."

There was that hand on his shoulder again, her fingers elegant and nimble as she shoved him lightly against the booth.

"He's not an idiot either!  God, fine, we'll get off the topic of you and my boyfriend."

"Please don't put us in the same sentence."

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

\-----

Peter got class representative.  The art magazine idea hit the curb as soon as he took up the duties, mostly because he couldn't balance anything else with the new workload if he wanted to keep his grades up.  McCall didn't seem terribly upset by this turn of events.  As such, Peter was never sure if he won fair and square or not.  Either way, his estimation of McCall went slightly up.

\-----

"Ladies," and Peter was mildly horrified at the gaggle of girls who were heading his way other than Melissa, who was leading the pack, "I would like to introduce you to Peter Hale, the _genius_  behind this amazing shindig _._ Peter..."

"Melissa.  You shouldn't have."  No, really, she shouldn't have.  He'd been hoping to actually spend some time with her during the dance since his school work and pack responsibilities had absolutely swallowed his time whole recently.  It had been something of a carrot for him while he'd done the gruntwork of organizing things; finish, and he'd have an evening with Melissa.  An _uninterrupted-by-Harry-McCall_  night with Melissa.

...there were angels and demons who would wince at the trouble Peter had gone to in order to set the dance on a night when the basketball team was at an away game, but he had managed it.  And now he was going to have to deal with the Idiot Squad, courtesy of the girl of his dreams.  Yes.  This was fantastic.  Fan. Tastic.

"Nonsense," and she nudged him playfully before tilting her head towards the girls, "I happen to _know_  you didn't come with a date since you were too busy putting this all together" which, no, it was because he didn't _want_  to go with anyone else, "soooo I brought over some of my friends who are just _itching_  to get to dancing.  Peter, this is Ellen, Bethie, Moira, and Kelly.  Girls, this is Peter, like I said."  

There was some cheap, slightly boozy pleasantries (because the punch bowl never managed to stay dry) and he could smell that three out of the four of them actually were somewhat interested in him, but he was interested in one out of the five of them.  How to fix this?

"Speaking of," he said after a moment, "I have to make sure that the music cues are set for later.  All the sound... things," and he'd have to find out more about the sound system in the future, though he hoped he wouldn't get caught in a situation like this again.

"Melissa, would you mind helping me with that?"

She looked a little cross at being pulled away from the party, but after a tired sigh, she pulled her arms away from the other girls and slipped between them to take Peter's offered hand.  He took it, the little thrill of her touch shooting up his spine and making his eyeteeth hurt before he got his brains together to tug her through the crowds and out of the gymnasium.  As soon as they were out, in the cool empty hallways, he finally felt like he could breathe.  He turned just a little to smile at her and she smiled back.

"So do you really have to do something for the music cues?" she asked, and he had to admit that if she'd actually fallen for it, he would have thought less of her.

"Not really," Peter admitted cheerfully.  "I just... wanted to get out of there and we haven't really had any time to talk since I got elected."

"Aha.  So this was all just a clever ruse."

"I don't know how clever it was if you saw through it," he pointed out, feeling a genuine smile on his face for the first time in far too long.

"Yeah, well, maybe that just means I'm as clever as you are."

"You'd be the only one in the running, as far as I'm concerned."  And he only realized after it was out how close it came to admitting things that he wasn't sure how to admit.  His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about telling her, admitting his feelings and perhaps opening up her mind to a possibility outside of Harry McCall.  It pounded so loudly that the throbbing in his ears completely covered the sound of feet on linoleum until someone else's arm went around Melissa's shoulders.

And Peter hated everything.

"Hey, babe," and Peter was treated to the delightful vision of Harold McCall kissing his girlfriend in greeting.  Peter was going to murder some rabbits tonight.  His sister would complain, but he'd have to care about that for it to make any difference.

"Hey!  How'd you get here?  I thought you guys had a game!"

"Yes, I distinctly remember you all having a game tonight."

Harold turned to look at Peter, summarily and pointedly ignored him, and offered a smile to Melissa.

"Other team forfeited within five minutes of us getting there.  Apparently, half the team got food poisoning from some bad meat in the cafeteria.  Something like that.  Don't really know, don't really care.  So coach said we were free to go."

Peter was about to say something, make some snide remark about the lack of empathy in Harry's words, when he happened to look at Melissa's face.  She was so... happy.  So unbelievably happy that McCall was there, that he'd come to the dance even though he'd be late, that he'd come for _her._   The smile on her face, that beautiful smile, was all for Harry in a way that made Peter feel like an intruder.  She bounced on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek and there was such joy to it...

His heart didn't sink or flip or do anything ridiculous like that, but _emotionally_ , his chest felt hard and heavy and breath was hard to come by.  He was... he was being an idiot.  He _had_  been an idiot.  Whatever Melissa was, and whatever McCall could possibly be... he made her happy.  He was the one she'd been waiting for; Peter was the one she'd chatted with while waiting.  That was... that was just how things were.  That was just how things were going to be for pretty much the foreseeable future.  

All of his plans and ideas and jabs against McCall would, in the end, ultimately do nothing more than to hurt someone that he really and truly admired.  Cared about.  Felt an emotional connection to.  He didn't think he'd ever understand, wasn't sure he was built to understand, but undeniably, he realized that he had to _respect_ it.  Respect her.  And if he didn't, he was actually worse than anything he'd have ever called McCall (up to and including 'Neanderthal', what with that brow line).  If he thought well of her enough that he wanted her, he certainly should think well enough to want her happy.  

Not all of that went through his mind just then; it was a considerable amount to work through for a young man who still had to finish up the night with a successful school dance, but at that particular moment he knew that the game was over.  A little later, he'd figure out it wasn't a game, and after that, he'd come to the conclusion that nobody had really been playing against him, but for right now, it was just pain and the knowledge that the best thing he could do would be to slink off into the darkness.  Harry was nudging her hair aside to whisper something playful into her ear and Melissa's nose was scrunched up from the faint fuzz on his cheek tickling her skin.

Yeah, the darkness it was.  He'd just fade away into the further recesses of the hallways and let them find their own way, either to a secluded spot or back to the dance.  Peter willed himself not to care which and made sure not to breathe in too heavily for the same reason.

"Peter?"

He'd always been very good at hiding.

"Eh, don't worry about him.  We have some dancing to do.  Come on.  I think I hear our song."

\-----

Three of the basketball players got drunk that night, two of them suspended.  Peter was voted 'Most Likely To Succeed' for the yearbook.  Melissa was voted 'Best Smile'.  McCall got 'Star Athlete'.  Peter went off to Hamilton University on early acceptance.  Melissa started a nursing program.  McCall went to the local community college.  LIfe went on.  And then it didn't.

\----- 

He'd killed her cleanly.  There was that, he'd always have that.  He'd killed her cleanly, chopped in half, throat ripped out, blood, so much blood, but she hadn't suffered and that was as clean as deaths got.  Not burned alive, not shriveled and charred and ugly.  Dirty and bloody and surprised, painless, almost painless, short-pained.  He'd given her that.  It was better than what they'd all got.  It was better than what she deserved for failing her family.

When he woke up, it had been to pain.  To sterile smells and muscles that didn't work and cold floors and wrongness.  Maybe they'd washed him and maybe it'd been years, but he'd woken up with the scent of his family's flesh in his nose, woodsmoke and screams and dying in his skin and everything, everything hurt somewhere.  Science might have said it was impossible, but his brother's death had been burned into his eyes, always there when he blinked, always there when it was dark and the shapes flashed there in the absence of light. Rich Rich Rich, his Richard, his brother, his Alpha, trying, howling, screaming, burning.  All of them were burning.  Everything was burning.  Silence didn't exist.  Everything was heartbeats and howls and heat and pain and the world swallowing them up in flames, everything, everyone.  His pack, his family, his brother, 

When he'd blinked, they'd called her.  She was the only number listed for him, and she'd come and he'd seen her, seen in her, what she was, what Richard had left for her.  She'd taken the time, sat with him, held his cold, dead hand with unmoving muscles, told him about her life.  Told him about what had happened after the world ended in fire.  She'd probably thought she was making him feel better, or maybe she was just using him to talk, to _confess_ , but he was no impartial listener, no priest behind a screen.  She confessed she had failed them all.  She confessed she'd moved on, taken Derek, made a life.  She confessed she left them behind, left behind the screams and the house and the people who'd done it.  She confessed and this time the flames would swallow her in penance, the ones still inside of him, the ones that would never go out.  

He'd killed her cleanly, but it was the fire that'd killed her, the same as the rest of them.  The fire had killed her and he'd just been its instrument, his claws as quick as flames, her eyes filled with confusion and then with pain as he shared with her.  He shared that, the screams, the howls, her father's death as the stairs beneath him collapsed and the world burned and his hand, this hand, trying, failing, to pull him up.  He'd sliced her throat open but the flames had killed her, just like it had killed the rest of them.  Then he'd sliced her in half, but that was just a kindness.  She didn't want to live with the flames, heal through the flames.  He'd know.  He had.  

And now, he was Alpha.  Now he was the _ultimate_ instrument and he would bring the flames to those who'd brought them to him.  She'd spent her years becoming a simpering human psychobabble machine.  He didn't know how long he had, if he had years, if the flames would eventually burn him up inside, but he'd spend his time being anything but human.  He'd spend it loping through his territory, marking it, reclaiming it for his fallen pack, perhaps even building a new one.  He'd never been Alpha, never planned on being Alpha, but Richard was gone and that left him and he would do it if no one else would or could.

Except that they'd found Laura.  They couldn't find who'd burned his family alive, they couldn't find the bitch who'd done it and bring her to justice, but they could find Laura. Of course, that wasn't his fault.  SHE had been sloppy and SHE would have to be talked to, put into her place.  Made aware of how little tolerance he had for those who'd stand in the way of his duty.  But now, for now, he had to be careful.  As much as it burned, as much as it made him want to howl and rip and kill, he had to avoid, run, hide.  Perhaps the sheriff and his pack would pay one day, but there were others who had to pay first before he attempted prey that dangerous.  They were secondary, and he could wait.  Wait, but not forget.  Not like Laura.  Never like Laura.

He was almost out of the preserve, almost past the trees, when he smelled it.  There were deer, quite a few, but there was also something else.  There were two, two boys, two innocent, unprotected boys and they were in his place, his home, their home.  He sniffed and sniffed and sniffed again until he picked up more, until he could smell through the night and the trees.  One went with the sheriff, went away into the safety and the light to the human places.  The other drifted farther towards him, onto his land, his place and yet.

And yet.

The flames inside were quiet, more quiet than they'd been since he'd woken up.  Something in this boy, something in the smell of him brought him back beyond the flames, past them, back to when things were simple.  It brought him back to a dance and a hallway and standing in the shadow of the trees that suddenly felt like something else.  He crept closer, red eyes piercing the night, and saw eyes he knew, dark hair, olive skin.  He smelled… her.  He could smell her.  The memories were old, buried, blackened, but he could smell her.

He could also smell HIM.

He didn't want to build yet, not until the ashes of the past had been swept away in blood and fury.  Not until he was done.  He was methodical, he knew how to plan and how to get things done and there was no more important thing to do.  He had a purpose and that purpose was solitary.  That purpose was everything.  He didn't want the trouble of a new wolf, a Beta, someone who'd need him because his own needs were too great right now.  The flames could wait for no man. 

But this, the smell, the boy.  The urge to bite was too strong, to take, to make, to have what he'd wanted, what he'd always wanted, and to take it from the one he'd always hate.  To have what had been denied him, to make the boy his.  To hurt the boy.  To take him from HIM.  The two desires swirled around, endless and overwhelming and he didn't even realize it until the blood was in his mouth and the hands were pushing against him that he'd done it.  He'd made a wolf. He's started a pack.  He'd bitten a child.  He'd taken what wasn't his and made it his, just his, just once.  Taken because he was all out of kindness and done with patience.  Taken because now was the season of vengeance and why not get his own at the same time? 

\-----

McCall had left.  Her son was his. 

She didn't recognize him.  He'd grown and changed, sprouted and broadened, and he'd given her a completely different name from his own.  She was tired, overworked and under-appreciated, and she hadn't written poetry in years. She thought Peter Hale was gone, a vegetable in a home.  He was good at playing a part.  

His heart tried to beat again when she smiled.  She thought he was charming and shoved his shoulder playfully.

It was the first thing that actually _hurt_ since the fire.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I never liked the idea that Peter bit Scott 'totally at random' because honestly, it utterly contradicts the rest of his character. Peter planned EVERYTHING (that being a huge plot point in and of itself in the first season) and yet, he decides to bite a random teenager that night even though he makes no attempt to build a pack for the rest of the season? And it was random? I call malarky. 
> 
> ...also, I admit, Peter's little crush thing on Melissa in show is kind of bizarrely consistant. Oh, he doesn't KIDNAP Scott's mom, he tries to go on a date with her. And then testifies to her hotness a season later.
> 
> As you might have guessed, this is a bit of backstory for the fic series. There's going to be a few more pieces before we get to the 'meat' of the story as I flesh out things. Thanks for reading!


End file.
